My Side
by Kooky Owl
Summary: As Karofsky's harassments worsen, Kurt is deeply hurt by the lack of support from his teachers, his friends, and his brother. But one day, brooding over a medium drip in the Lima Bean, he stumbles across The FAGS, a group who offer him a new source of comfort, only no one else seems to like them. TRIGGER WARNING: non/con, self-harm, and drug abuse. (Full summary inside.)


FULL SUMMARY: As Karofsky's harassments worsen, Kurt is deeply hurt by the lack of support from his teachers, his friends, and his brother. But one day, brooding over a medium drip in the Lima Bean, he stumbles across The FAGS, a group who offer him a new source of comfort, only no one else seems to like them. Slight AU, beginning takes place around "Never Been Kissed," and features badboy!Blaine/Sebastian/Elliot/Adam. TRIGGER WARNING: non/con, self-harm, drug abuse.

* * *

Handbags, Hairdos, and Harassments

"Now, I'm not saying they should be banned altogether—I mean, ask my dad, even in infancy I knew how to dress and deserved the attention," He said as he piled unneeded notebooks into his locker. "All I'm saying is that nowadays restrictions should be placed so that five-years-olds don't start starving themselves and jabbing fingers down their throats- _oof!_ "

Kurt would've delved deeper into his deep disgust for child beauty pageants if he wasn't interrupted by a force that propelled him into the lockers. As Kurt clashed with the metal and collapsed to the floor he looked up to see David Karofsky looming above him. Kurt matched the football player's intimidating aura with an accusatory glare, but through his feigned confidence Kurt's heart trembled.

Tina jumped back, but after she was sure Karofsky would not reel back for a second blow she cautiously re-approached her fallen friend to retrieve the phone that he'd dropped. ". . . Are you okay?" She asked holding it out to him.

Kurt lifted himself to his feet again, brushed off dust from his shoulders, and rubbing his throbbing arm he watched Karofsky saunter away, blending further and further into the bustling crowd of high schoole student until he could no longer identify his broad back and clenched fists hovering off of his torso. "Yea . . ." he mumbled as he took his phone from Tina with a stiff nod of thanks.

"Okay, well, as I was saying, not all kid models are food-deprived, have you seen Honey Boo-Boo's show lately? I mean, just the other day . . ."As she bounced up and down in excitement over paraphrasing short snippets of her favorite TV show, Kurt offered seldom nods and grunts to prove his attention was being kept, but his eyes remained downcast onto the brand new crack that had formed on his phone, a jetted crevice that stretched across its entire face.

When she was apparently finished raving, Tina hooked her arm in his and lead him into the choir room for their after school glee club. He could tell they were early because the classroom was still being filled by separate conversations about anything but music, and Mr. Schuester was focused on sorting through graded Spanish essays at the front of the room.

Kurt and Tina carefully weaved their way through the other members to get to two open seats at the back of the room. Tina decided to take up another conversation about Honey Boo Boo's mother when Kurt sat down next to her with his arms and legs crossed and his chin pressed to chest. He stared down at his Jimmy Choo steel-toes in silence and waited for club to begin.

"Okay guys!" Mr. Schuester said as he clapped his hands together, which caused the glee clubbers to be silenced. "Unfortunately, the set list for sectionals will be arriving a little bit late. But, on the bright side, I thought this would be a great opportunity to remember something important. Sectionals is coming up fast, so it's time to get serious. That's why this week's lesson is about . . . L-O-Y-A-L-T-Y," He wrote out on the whiteboard behind him. "And the power of friendship." He said capping the marker and facing his students again. From across the room, Santana Lopez gagged.

"As sectionals approaches, I want you guys to remember the importance of everyone in this room, and the bonds that everyone in here shares. We may not all get solos, but we can't win sectionals, much less nationals, without every member. So, I want all of you to separate into two teams—boys versus girls, and—"

"Excuse me, Mr. Shue?" Kurt interrupted with a raised hand.

"Kurt?"

"If this lesson is about unity, why are we separating?"

"Let me finish—each group is going to sing a love song to the other."

". . . Don't you think that's a little inconsiderate?"

Santana smirked, "What's wrong Lady Hummel, scared people'll think you're a lesbian?"

Kurt only glared. "Come on, separating and grouping an entire choir room filled with an extremely diverse student body into the cliché "boy loves girl" bit doesn't strike anybody else as a little narrow-minded? And furthermore—"

"It doesn't have to be love in an intimate kind of way, Kurt," Mr. Schuester said, rubbing his forehead to foster his patience. "You guys should know by now that love comes in all different shapes and sizes. Just find a song that expresses how much you care for the other group. And yes, Kurt, I know we've done this before, but I thought a little "blast from the past" would be interesting. Now, group up!"

The choir room's floor abruptly sang to the friction of scuffling feet as all of the glee clubbers stood up at once to separate themselves towards either ends of the room. Stiffly, Kurt rose from his seat and strolled towards the girls as nonchalant as possible, but Mr. Schuester had already anticipated his actions.

"Boys, Kurt."

 **~XoxoX~**

It was decided the boys were to be placed in a spare science classroom to conceive their plan of attack. Artie parked himself in between the rows the two of desks to have access to everyone, Sam and Mike took up residence on top of the desks, and Finn, not having said a word since the week's lesson had been declared, sat beside Puck. Kurt had decided to claim a full table at the back of the room.

"Dudes, we should so do Blurred Lines." Sam suggested.

"No way, man, that's too disrespectful." Said Mike, shaking his head in disapproval. "Let's do Baby Got Back!"

"I have an idea . . ." Kurt began, growing tired of of the endless list of bad suggestions being thrown around the room. "Why don't we pick a song that doesn't involve pouring out all of our pent up frat boy fantasies onto the girls?"

"Our?" Puck tested with a smirk, which aroused numerous hushed chuckles, but Kurt only glared, "You heard Mr. Shue, this assignment is about appreciating each other as teammates and friends, not breathing fleshlights."

The group rolled their eyes and forced themselves to be quieted as they looked through their minds for a good love song that didn't involve anything suggestive. Kurt crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow in awed disgust. "Let's sing, Wind Beneath My Wings." He suggested. The boys shook their heads.

"How about, I'll Be There?"

To this, they groaned in unison.

"You Got a Friend In Me?"

"No!" They yelled all at once.

"C'mon dude, I know you'll never know what it is to enjoy the curves of a sexy lady," Said Puck. "But those songs are catholic school worthy."

"I thought you were an atheist..." Sam murmured.

Kurt scoffed, "Well excuse me for not picking songs about sexing up half the choir room!"

"Look Kurt, we hear what you're saying." Artie reasoned as he wheeled towards Kurt. "We're just looking for a song with a little more intimacy."

Another air of silence silence dissolved into the room with a hint of irritation.

"Oh!" Kurt suddenly gasped, "Then let's do Moulin Rouge's, Come What May!" Kurt leaped from his seat and stood at the front of the room, hands clasped in excitement. His eyes were shining with the light of his life, a persistent little flame that never stopped dancing, but whirled with joy when fed the fuel inspiration. "I. love. That. Song! You boys can split Christian's part amongst yourselves," He said with a dismissive wave of the hand, "And I'll sing Satine's part-by myself of course, since none of you could even dream of reaching my range."

The boys traded glances to see if the decision was unanimous, "Nah." They said.

Kurt's arms fell to his sides, "What do you mean, 'nah?' This song is literally perfect."

"It's kinda cheesy." Mike said.

". . . Cheesy?" And as his arms slowly crossed and his eyes widen to a point they threatened to peel back, Mike bowed his head in preparation for the unavoidable lecture.

"Michael Robert Chang Jr..." He said calmly. "This song is about a promise made between two people to, despite whatever the world throws at them, like rapists and tuberculosis, commit their entire beings to each other throughout the rest of their lives, and even through _death_. Which, for our purposes, can forge the perfect compromise between platonic devotion and intimate heterosexual undertones! We have to perform it!"

"No, we don't." Puck said, pushing himself on top of the desk to look down at him, "See, there's like five of us, and only one of you, and from what I learned in social studies, majority rules. So how about we come up with all the ideas?"

"And then run them by you!" Finn piped up. "Yea. But we're still picking." Which earned him a punch in the leg from Finn.

Kurt stood at the front of the classroom with his body twisted in annoyance. He looked into the stares of the five boys and saw a sympathy, a silent agreeance, and an overall rejection. Suddenly, he felt like a fool standing up there exposing himself to people who, then and now, would rather not hear his opinion. He saw Sam, Finn, Mike, Artie and Puck watch expectantly through upturned eyebrows, but he only said, "Fine." and abruptly walked out.

As he stormed towards the main entrance, he half hoped one of them would follow, half hoped they would all leave him alone.

Walking out from under the school's main archway and to his car he accepted the latter scenario with a sigh. Unlocking his navigator, entering, and slamming the door behind him, he let the silence envelop him, and shrunk into his seat. He turned his head to the sky and looked into his mind's eye for support. He hadn't been wrong to leave, he knew that. Melodramatic, naturally, but in no way wrong. It'd do nothing but waste time to have stayed with the group and keep giving them good ideas that all had him singing lead.

"I know it was may be a little selfish. . . " He whispered. "But is it so wrong to want something to go your way?"

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He looked at it with a crooked frown, fingers trailed against the twisted line that uglied it's face.

Gazing into the broken reflection trapped inside his phone, he supposed it wasn't his friends' faults they had no taste.

Kurt sighed and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Reaching into his pocket again, he took out his keys and pushed it into the ignition. Listening to his Navigator purr calmed him. "At least my baby appreciates my presence." He smiled, petting the steering wheel as he pulled out of the school's parking lot. He tried to relax into his car cushion's loving embrace and the sound of his favorite wicked track blasting, and think of something else.

Times like these reminded Kurt of the days and nights he fantasized what his first kiss would be like. Except he'd usually be alone in his room listening to a playlist named "In Love and Alone" while everyone else was busy being enamored. Looking back on it, he understood why he never told Mercedes about these personal fantasies: they were something out of a really cliche hollywood movie.

 _Karofsky's tongue desperately trailed itself along the rim of Kurt's teeth. His hands urgently forced their way under Kurt's shirt and grabbed for his chest. Kurt's heart beat so fast his chest felt as if it was squeezing in on itself in panic, he used his free arms to push against the football players, but the other the sheer size of boy made him immovable._

He and some nameless handsome stranger would begin their evening with a movie, perhaps A Midsummer Night's Dream or Les Miserables, and they would both laugh at the same parts, cry at the same parts, and hold hands during the romantics scenes. That would go on for a while, and then, even though it was late at night, they'd go and eat at some fancy, expensive restaurant. Kurt would break his rule of "no eating after 8 O'clock" to enjoy anything from cheese souffle, steamed lobster, braised pork loin, to fillet mignon. And the two of them would purposefully order two different entrees as an excuse to feed each other bits off the tips of their forks.

 _Kurt cried out for him to stop, but Karofsky pressed the smaller boys body between his and the metal lockers to quiet him through near suffocation. Kurt felt Karofsky's hand begin to travel downwards, and he didn't know what to do. He couldn't think because his head felt ripped from his body in dizziness._

And then the boy would walk Kurt home, and the moon would shine enough light for them to see, but it would still be dark enough to hold onto each other tightly in mock fright. And just before they reached his house and prepared to part from one another, the boy would take Kurt's hands and say what an amazing night he had and move closer and closer as they relived their rendezvous until they'd be breathing the same air. Their eyes would close, but they would still see each other as they slowly became one in a kiss. It would start as barely a peck, and slowly they would move into each other until neither could breathe.

 _He couldn't breath because Karofsky wouldn't stop forcing his tongue down his throat. He couldn't scream because Karofsky was squeezing him so tight his lungs wouldn't work. He wanted it out. He wanted it out of his mouth, and Karofsky wouldn't listen, so squeezing his eyes shut he bit down as hard as he could. He immediately retracted, head thrown back in pain. Kurt tasted blood. And as he watched him wobble in pain, he turned to flee, but Karofsky grabbed his arm and slammed his back against the lockers. His eyes were bloodshot and wet, face twisted and scrunched in anger, desperation, and from what Kurt could tell from the centimeter in between them, fear._

And when they parted for a breath of air, the boy would smile and say, "I love you."

Kurt would usually be burning with blush at the ridiculousness of it all at this point.

" _If you tell anyone . . ." His hands tightened around the thinner boy's arms. Kurt repressed a cry of pain as he felt blood spatter onto his face. He looked up and his wet eyes met his, "I'll kill you."_

Kurt couldn't stop glancing at the defaced phone sitting beside him as he drove. It's mocking face felt as twisted and his real first kiss.

He glanced down at his watch instead: it was 3:30, glee club should have been over.

He didn't know what Principal Sylvester could do if he reported what happened, but he would rather not tell either way and make sure no one finds out, rather than ask for help, get none, and risk everyone finding out. Even telling anyone in general was a deathly trouble all in itself. Kurt supposed, regardless if he told anyone Karofsky forced a kiss on him, the blame would automatically be placed on him. The ignoramus-filled population that made up most of Lima, Ohio might blame it on some form of "homo disease," or might just straight up call him a liar begging for attention.

As Kurt parked outside of The Lima Bean he dried his eyes of tears he didn't even realize had built up, and patted the frustrated blush from his cheeks in the mirror of his car's sun visor. When he was sure he looked presentable, he exited the vehicle, listened to the click of it's locks, and headed for the entrance.

As he opened the glass doors his body was greeted by a blanket of cold air. Kurt felt a smile begin to grow on his lips when he realized for once there was no line; because he left school so early the regulars that usually crowded the shop hadn't arrived yet. He held his head higher to the brighter mood as he strolled to the cash register. The cashier was a young woman, probably a recent high school graduate, with hair brought up into a lazy bun. Her makeup was far too heavy and gaudy to be classy, Kurt thought, and paired with her ten-inch long plastic nails made him think of a hooker. She made no eye contact, had no greeting, and didn't smile.

"I'll have a non-fat mocha grande, please." He asked softly.

The woman punched in is order with her faux claws and told him the price in what Kurt thought to be the driest voice he'd ever heard. Nevertheless, Kurt simply handed her the money and awaited his prize, and when he picked up the first cup put down in front of him he couldn't contain his toothless grin. "Thank you!" He said a little too cheerfully.

He couldn't wait any longer for his drink as he turned around to choose a seat. He took a sip from the steaming cup, and spit it out.

His grin had left him, as with all his happiness, and slowly he turned.

"Excuse me, miss." He said, slamming the bottom rim of the cup against the marble counter with a _clack_. "I said I wanted a non-fat mocha grande, not a medium drip."

The woman shrugged wordlessly, and Kurt's eyes widened. "What kind of service is this? I drive here all the way from school, using gas that I pay for with my money, come here to give you my patronage, with _more_ of my money-mind you, I don't even have a job-and what do I get? Service that isn't even competent enough to get me the right cup of coffee!" The woman stared back at him, open mouthed and looking dumb. Kurt narrowed his eyes, "What? You think it's my fault you failed school so bad you work at the Lima-loser haven to pay rent for your parents' basement?"

"Um, pardon me . . ." A smooth voice from behind him said. "But I think you took my cup on accident."

Kurt turned around and found a boy around his age, dressed in tight black jeans decorated with silver chain links and a tight leather jacket to match. He had expressive thick eyebrows to decorate a flat face and enhance two equally expressive hazel eyes. He was absolutely gorgeous, and faintly Eurasian. "I decided to wait at my table until the coffee was ready." He said.

"Oh—oh, God, I . . . I-I'm sorry, miss, and I'm sorry, sir, I mean—" Kurt looked back and forth between the cup, the stranger, and the flustered cashier, desperately hoping any one of them would suddenly disappear, which none did. "I drank it already . . ." He said, shoulders slumping, "This is so embarrassing." He cried, bowing his head to hide his face.

The stranger leaned down to try and offer him a smile, "No worries, it's not a big deal, I'll just take yours. It's nice to switch it up every once in a while." He raised an eyebrow, "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Kurt said quickly, raising his head again. "Let me buy you another cup."

"No, don't worry about it. Let's just get out of this line before people start yelling." As he gestured towards the growing number of people behind them he took Kurt's hand and ushered him towards a small table fast enough to avoid their glares.

"That was some tongue-lashing." He said as they settled down. Kurt cringed at the recent memory, and he quickly changed his tune, "But it's really busy today, so I can understand why you got a little mixed up." He lied. "And the cashier will get over it."

Kurt took in a deep breathe and let out a long sigh. He leaned on his elbow as he rubbed his forehead to ease away the pressure that had been accumulating, and with the other hand he dried his face. "So what you're trying to say is, 'you look like a crazy person crying over a cup of coffee.'" He said with a bitter chuckle.

"No, no, not at all." The stranger laughed and quieted, waiting for him to possibly continue. Kurt sighed, "I'm not always like this. It's just all the nonsense from school is starting to try my patience."

"It's not nonsense if you're crying over it."

Kurts eyes dropped down to his coffee in silence as he sailed its contents and took a sip,

"I hope she doesn't spit in my cup tomorrow."

"Do you... Come here by yourself often?"

"No, not really-well kinda, I mean... Sorta. It's just recently I've been coming here after school to clear my head. Sitting here watching all the people scurry by, carrying on with their daily lives, is . . . therapeutic." He looked at him, hoping for some kind of understanding, but the stranger looked lost. "It's just nice to be so close to all these people's lives and have nothing to do with them, you know? It's like my 'secret garden' in a way."

"Yea, the Lima-loser of secret gardens." he said.

Kurt laughed, "I'm sorry, I really shouldn't be bothering you with my little pity-party."

The stranger watched as Kurt went back to whirling his cup around in his grasp. Kurt glanced at him in the few seconds passing, and decided he was the cutest. His eyes and bushy brows alone made Kurt feel trusting, he caught his eye and dipped his head with a blush. "My name's Blaine."

"Hm? Oh!" He gasped. "My name's Kurt. Im sorry, introductions usually come first, don't they?"

"Yea, most of the time. But when coffee's at stake, you can get a pass." He smiled as he playfully glared at him. "Well, Kurt, do you have any plans for tonight?" He asked suddenly.

"Me?"

"Of course you, who else? C'mon, I know a better 'secret garden' to hang out in."

Kurt felt stupid for looking so dumbstruck at the invitation, "I can't. My family is expecting me home tonight."

"Then tomorrow night."

"I don't think—"

"Look, not to be blunt, but I think you need someone to talk to." Kurt straightened his posture and furrowed his brow, and Blaine quickly raised his hands in defense,

"I'm not saying you don't have friends or anything like that, but I get the feeling that you're not around a lot of people who, y'know, get what's going on with you or how you feel."

Forcing himself to relax, Kurt swallowed and breathed in full breaths to calm his beating heart at the memories of school. "I'm sorry . . . and you do?" He asked.

Blaine frowned and leaned across the table. He peeled back his leather coat and pulled down his shirt to reveal the tip of thick black scar that seemed to extend further down his torso. The jaggedness reminded Kurt of the crack he'd gotten on his phone. "This is just one of the mementos some assholes gave me because I went to their Sadie Hawkins dance with another guy."

"Oh, Blaine... I didn't know."

Blaine nodded, "Listen, it's public place, and there's gonna be a bunch of other nice people there. I know we just met, but trust me when I tell you," his hand wrapped around his. "I get it."

"O-Okay."

* * *

A/N: Hello and thank you for clicking my very first fanfiction! :3 I really hoped you liked it. I stopped writing for a long time because I had to study for exams, so I'm a little rusty, but I worked really hard on it. And this is just for fun, so I'm sure you guys'll give me a break ^u^ I realize, looking back on it now, that it mirrors "Never Been Kissed" very closely . . . I hope that doesn't bother anyone, because it's bothering the hell out of me. It won't be like that for the rest of the story though!

Anyway, this is going to focus mainly on Kurt, but I want the focus to be on Finn, Blaine, Sebastian, Elliott, and Adam too. But Elliott, Sebastian, and Adam were never really main characters, so I hope you'll like my take on them.

And I may toy around with first person perspective in future chapters.

Anyway, thanks again for reading! And reviews are drugs to me! Don't let me die from withdrawal! ;3


End file.
